Tell Me What You're Running From
by missAmberly
Summary: The pilots are forced to go undercover with Zechs, ferreting out a new terrorist cell growing in a prestigious American University. But after five years, the pilots have grown apart, and their rifts seem unsurmountable-especially when Duo is hiding something.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes: **This fic is-complicated. There's a lot going on, and I expect that the warnings on it will change as time goes on. I haven't added any tags as of yet, mostly because I want to maintain some element of surprise. I WILL be tagging each individual chapter, and if you have any concerns, please feel free to message me.

**Warnings: **None this chapter.

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><p><em>Agents Chang, Barton, Maxwell, Merquise, Winner and Yuy,<em>

_There is an anarchist militia group on the campus of Columbia University. We believe they have access to the weaponry to achieve their goals. Your mission is to infiltrate the group and bring it down from the inside. You will begin this mission in 10 days. When you move into the dorm is up to you, but you must be fully moved in by 18:00. _

_**Guidelines **_

_1. I have divided you into three pairs. Yuy and Chang, you are responsible for surveillance. You will monitor the group from the outside. Barton and Maxwell, you will do infiltration. I don't care how you get in, but get in to this group, and work on getting in as high as you can. Merquise and Winner, you will be responsible for gathering intelligence. I want to know how everyone on campus feels about the group, as well as any information you can give me about people off campus. _

_2. No contact with anyone not stationed at the college. This includes: family, friends, co-workers, business associates, etc._

_3. The six of you will be living in a three bedroom all boys dorm. You will share a bedroom and bathroom with your partner, and the dining room, living room and kitchen with everyone else. There is a small balcony. Reminder that the campus (and it's dorms) are smoke free, as well as alcohol and drug free. _

_4. Please register for classes. You will, for all intents and purposes, be college students. I expect you all to take your studies very seriously. _

_5. You will keep mission logs on a fake journal website I have set up. You will update them once a week with all pertinent mission intel, and any relevant personal information, so that I can monitor your progress. Weekly updates will be made by 0:00 Saturday. _

_If you have any additional questions about any of this information, please email me directly to set up an appointment. _

_With Regards,_

_Your Commander_

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><p>Duo stepped in to his dorm room and wrinkled his nose. It was cramped, the air hot and close. A dingy window split the wall opposite the door, dividing the room in two. On either side were chipped dressers and battered beds. Duo dropped his duffle on one as he went to the window. He could unpack later. But he wasn't going to sleep in a room that smelled of stale sweat and mothballs. Not when he didn't have to.<p>

The window came open with a screech, shuddering up the frame. Sighing, he leaned out to feel the sun on his face, lips curling at the soft autumn breeze. His room was one of three in the suite, all branching off a common area. Heero was already there, unpacking food into the fridge. Duo had ignored him, wanting to get his stuff down. He didn't think any of the others had arrived yet.

"I'm not catching you if you fall," came an amused voice from the door. Duo jerked, then turned, glaring half-hearted at his roommate.

"Nice to know you have my back, Tro," he rolled his eyes, throwing himself on his bed. Chuckling, Trowa set his bag on one of the dressers. He'd grown, towering a full foot over Duo, hair still falling over his eyes. Duo fought back a wave of jealousy. He hadn't grown since the war, still short and scrawny, topping out at an even 5'4, and Trowa-Trowa was over 6', built and beautiful. Scowling at the ceiling, he ignored his roommate as he unpacked.

"Everyone else here?" Trowa crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the dresser. Duo rolled on to his side, propping his head up ins his hand, a strand of hair caught between his teeth.

"Dunno. Heero is," He shrugged, looking Trowa over. "You got tall."

"You noticed."

"Hard not to," Duo grumbled, cracking a grin despite himself. Une had put the two of them together for the mission, and Duo was grateful. Trowa kept his mouth shut and his head down. Didn't ask questions. Duo swallowed as he looked Trowa over again. The attraction was still there, pulling at him like a hook.

He stood abruptly, brushing past Trowa on his way to the door, braid swinging behind him. Trowa's eyes followed him, face expressionless. Flashing a quick grin over his shoulder, Duo opened the door, desperate to get of the room, to get away from Trowa and the slow boil in his blood.

"I'll go see who else's here," he threw out, shutting the door behind himself as he stepped in to the hall. This mission was going to be Hell. Especially if he couldn't control himself. Duo peaked in to the kitchen, then relaxed. Still only Heero. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he crossed the space between them, bumping Heero with his elbow. Heero grunted in response. But he smiled, still, looking down at Duo with crinkled eyes.

"Duo."

"'Ro," he replied, in the same tone. He nudged Heero again, then hopped up on the counter', swinging his legs. "Gonna be weird not being partners this time."

"Hn," Heero agreed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the table. He tilted his head, looking Duo over, lips quirking at the flash of irritation on Duo's face.

"Really?" Duo's comment was scathing, and Heero grinned.

"No," Heero chuckled, his grin widening as Duo rolled his eyes. "It is weird. I trust Trowa but... I would prefer to be the one to watch your back."

"You can watch my back any time," Duo's eyebrows waggled, leaning towards Heero. The Japanese man blushed, shaking his head and looking at the ground. He cleared his throat, then looked back up at Duo.

"Will we at least have classes together?"

"Depends, hot stuff. What are you taking?" Duo canted his head, grinning at Heero. The pilot had changed since the war. He was more open, more relaxed. Almost shy. Duo liked the changes he saw. It was proof of what he'd known during the war: that Heero was more than just a soldier. Heero pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket, handing it over with a smile. Duo scanned it, then grinned.

"Algebra! Tuesdays and Thursdays, from noon to 1:30pm. You're stuck with me, 'Ro," Duo beamed at him, handing the paper back.

"I look forward to it," Heero grinned back at him, shoving the paper back in his pocket. The door to the suit opened, both of them turning their head. Duo slid off the counter, catching sight of blond hair. His nose wrinkled, and he backed towards the hall. Heero raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything, letting Duo retreat to his dorm room.

Trowa was leaning against the window, smoking. He looked back at Duo with a quirked eyebrow, exhaling slowly into the open air. Duo shut the door, leaning back against it and snorting.

"Hope you don't mind if I smoke," he drawled.

"It's a little late if I do," Duo pushed away from the door, shaking his head. He looked over at Trowa, then picked up his duffel. He unpacked in silence, lips pursed. Finishing his cigarette, Trowa flicked it out the window, then stretched out on his bed.

"The others are arriving."

"And you're not the welcome party?" Trowa looked at Duo with a frown. Duo shook his head, turning away from the dressed and leaning back against it, lips a thin line.

"Why? I don't know them. We aren't friends. We fought a war together. That's it," his voice crackled with bitterness, and Trowa propped himself up on his arms, eyebrow raising higher. Duo ignored him, pulling away and heading for the bathroom. The door shut firmly behind him, leaving Trowa frowning and puzzled, wondering where the friendly and outgoing boy from the war had gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes: **No specific warnings! This one is going to be a bit of a slow burn, y'all. I am going to speed it up as much as I can, but I want to get some characterization set down, first. Chapters will probably get longer as we go, too. Duo is gonna be such a little shit in this fic, I love it.

**Warnings: **None this chapter.

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><p>Duo slipped in to the desk next to Wufei at 7:59 on Monday morning, hair caught at his temples and loose down his back. Wufei eyed his former comrade impassively, slowly raising an eyebrow. During the war, Duo had been possessive of his hair, wearing it braided with an intense devotion to the style that had been religious. To see it loose now, trailing in thick, chestnut waves down Duo's back, startled him. But not enough to show. Wufei inclined his head in greeting, a gesture that Duo returned, and then turned his attention back to their first class of the morning: History of the World.<p>

Duo spent the lecture feigning sleep and ignoring the disapproving frown on Wufei's face. He sat hunched over his desk, chin in his hand, eyes purposely slitted. There were others watching him, with disapproval. Eyes on him judging and assessing-and a pair of eyes towards the front that were glued to his fall of hair, the curve of his jaw. They'd watched the swing of his hips as he'd entered, wearing black leggings and tight, v-necked purple tanktop. They'd taken in his boots and the tight black cardigan, the dusting of rogue on his cheeks. They were Duo's target.

His outfit was calculated. Duo didn't care that they were "girl" clothes. To him, they were clothes. A tool. They made him stand out, showed his body off. And here on earth, they conveyed a certain image: that he was easy. That he was a feminine boy, gay, and a bottom, and weak. Duo didn't agree with the assessment, with the way value was assigned to his clothes. But he was going to use it, play it up for his own benefit. Especially when it caught the eye of Jared, the tall blond watching him now.

Rumor had already pointed Jared out as a target. Someone who was involved in the group they were here to watch. And if a little fucking would get him into Jared's good graces, well. The guy was hot, with an arrogant curl to his lip that made Duo shiver. He'd have no problem sleeping with Jared, if that's what it took. For the mission. Of course. Duo smirked a little, standing as the class ended, stretching languidly. Wufei was glaring at him a little, and Duo raised his eyebrow, nodding coolly to the door.

He exited the classroom and stepped towards the side, lighting his cigarette. Wufei was close on his heels, following him around the side of the building and out of the flow of traffic. Duo took a long drag, meeting his gaze with distant eyes. Wufei adjusted his satchel, the lines of his body tense and rigid.

"I didn't realize we had a class together," he spoke, acidic and sharp. Duo shrugged.

"I didn't either. Not til I walked in," Duo blew out a long plume of smoke. He didn't owe Wufei anything, certainly not an explanation. They weren't friends. His opinion didn't matter. But they were going to have to work together. He eyed Wufei speculatively, then tossed the cigarette to the ground, sighing and stepping on it.

"Look. It's complicated. I'm not-going to do well in class," he ground out.

"You're more than intelligent enough, Maxwell," Wufei was serious, black eyes intent. Duo snorted.

"Yeah, but that's not why I'm here, is it? I'm here to get us in," Duo's lip curled, hands sliding in to his pockets. "I have another class. I'll catch you later, Wufei." Duo offered him a lazy salute, then sauntered away, heading for the art building.

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><p>Trowa was there. He stood next to his easel with his arms crossed, lips quirking as Duo walked in. The slim man made a beeline for him, dropping his bag on the floor next to the easel. Trowa was a distraction, a temptation Duo didn't think he was strong enough to resist. But he was familiar, at least. Safer than a stranger. And they had Painting together, all day, every Monday.<p>

"Brat," Trowa greeted him, a smile curving over his face. Duo smiled back a little, tilting his head as he settled at his easel. They didn't get much of a chance to talk before the professor arrived. There was a lecture, informal as it was, and then they were given an assignment.

"Now. I want you to choose a partner, spend 10-15 minutes talking to them, and then paint them. It doesn't have to be a portrait. Use your imaginations," the woman gestured grandly, then leaned back against her desk, watching them expectantly. Duo wet his lips, turning to look at Trowa with his eyebrow cocked.

"Do you want to partner up?" Trowa drawled, setting up his supplies. Duo grinned at him, nodding and hopping on to the stool. Snorting, Trowa shook his head, shooting Duo a sidelong glance. He turned, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall, looking at Duo speculatively.

"So. Short round of 20 questions?"

"Make it 10. We only have 15 minutes," Duo tucked a loose lock of hair behind his ear.

"10, then. Favorite color?" Trowa tapped his chin.

"Purple," Duo rolled his eyes. "You?"

"Also purple," Trowa grinned. "Don't tell anyone. Your turn."

"What was it like the first time you killed someone?" Duo asked, bright and chipper. Trowa felt the breath knocked out of him, face shuttering. He licked his lips, staring at Duo, and then he pushed away from the wall.

"Terrifying," he replied, wooden. Trowa didn't elaborate. Didn't give Duo the story, and Duo didn't ask. Simply responded "Messy" in turn. But his question had opened the floodgates, and the remaining interview was morbid, dredging up more past than Trowa liked. More past than anyone else on the team knew. He could understand why: Duo needed to know he could trust him. And Trowa needed to know the same. But it reopened barely stitched wounds, and Trowa turned to his easel with acid roiling in his stomach. They still had four hours to paint, somehow, and Trowa lost himself in it. Next to him, Duo's eyes were glazed, his lower lip drawn between his teeth as he painted, focus on the canvas.

"Time!" Their professor called out. Duo paused, blinking. He felt like he'd been in a trance, focused and buzzed and solely centered in his skin. Stepping back from his canvas, he cast a quick look at Trowa, grateful to see the same dazed, dreamy expression. Duo wet his lips, setting down his brush, waiting for further instruction.

"Now! Present what you have to your partner and let's clean up. These paintings will be part of your final portfolio, so don't forget about them," the professor tucked her hands in the large pockets of her pants, moving around the room as the other students laughed, sharing what they had. Duo swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck as Trowa stepped over.

"It's not...very good," he apologized, self-conscious. Trowa stopped, staring at the canvas. Duo swallowed again as Trowa's cheeks pinked. It wasn't a portrait. Not really. It was violets and blues and dark greys, a clown mask over the face of a shadowy figure hovering just above-a small, braided boy. There were the crumbling ruins of a church outlines, the faint smudge of lion paws next to tiny footprints. Trowa stared, fingers reaching for the hovering figure, then dropping. He cleared his throat.

"It's...good. Duo, this is excellent. I love-you used good color," Trowa fumbled for words, shoving his hands in to his pockets. It was beautiful, more revealing than the other man probably realized. He nodded to his own painting, suddenly feeling inadequate. Duo had painted more than just Trowa. He'd painted how he saw Trowa, what Trowa meant to him, still, after so many years apart. And Trowa had painted Duo, as he saw him. Stark and naked.

The painting seemed almost diluted, washed out. Grey and black, white and sharp, sudden violet. It didn't surprise Trowa that they'd used the same colors. Duo stood barefoot and naked, hair draped over his body. There was a scythe in one hand, and a halo sitting crooked over his bent head. His other hand was reaching out, touching fingertips of a ghostly figure-wearing the same half mask as the one in Duo's painting.

Trowa turned, ready to open his mouth. To apologize, to say something, anything to ease the mounting tension between them. But Duo was gone. Trowa caught the tail end of his hair out the door before it banged shut, and he was left standing there with two paints that showed a lot more emotion than he thought either of them had meant to.


End file.
